


Evil and a Heathen

by imperfectcircle



Series: Stories by theme: Crossovers [8]
Category: Generation Kill, True Blood
Genre: Breathplay, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad had <em>fangs</em>. And not, like, pansy-ass bisexual glitter in the sunlight fangs, but stone cold killer fangs, like the badass Marine he, uh, might not be, actually, if the fangs meant what Ray thought they meant.</p><p>-- Ray Person meets Eric Northman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evil and a Heathen

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Встреча](https://archiveofourown.org/works/784508) by [SleepSpindles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepSpindles/pseuds/SleepSpindles)



> Plot-free Ray/Eric, with content notes for all the blood/sex/violence of True Blood and all the profanity and casual homophobia of Generation Kill. Oh, plus breath-play with mild consent issues.
> 
> But for all that, mainly it's just an excuse for me to write Ray being Ray, with the occasional bonus moment of Eric being Eric.

With inhuman speed -- which, what the fuck ever, this was Brad, he was probably half cyborg anyway -- Ray's arm was being pinned behind his back.

"Say that again," Brad gritted out, his voice clear over the noise of the bar, "and I will break your arm in four different places."

"Yeah?" Ray said, trying and failing to remember what crap he'd just been running his mouth off about. Probably something about Brad's decidedly non-regulation hair. "I'll shit in your bed, don't think I won't." He thought about this for a moment. "Oh, hey, hey, I didn't tell you, this guy I knew in high school -- this guy who used to beat me up in high school --"

Brad's grip on his arm tightened. Nice to know he cared.

"-- apparently his frat house had this game, _Wheeeere's That Shit?_ "

Brad's grip on his arm tightened some more.

"Motherfucking _ow_ , Brad. Quit it. I know this is your repressed West Coast faggotty bullshit way of saying you missed me, but a little blood flow wouldn't go amiss, asshole."

Brad practically growled. "This grows tedious."

Which, hey, no way, Ray twisted out of Brad's armlock -- the motherfucker wasn't even _trying_ \-- to face him. "You come all the way back from England and don't even pick up a phone, and _I'm_ fucking tedious? Fuck you, man. Fuck you."

You didn't spend six weeks in a Humvee with someone without picking up his tells. Brad was just about ticking over from irritated amusement to pure irritation, and no way was Ray going to let some bullshit fight ruin the first time he'd seen the man in _months_.

"Hey, hey, whatever," Ray said, taking a step back and holding up his hands in the universal gesture for _I'm appeasing you because it's quicker than a brawl, not because I can't fucking hold my own._ "Just come have a drink with me and we'll call it even."

Ray recognised the look on Brad's face, but it was all kinds of disconcerting to see it turned on him. This was the look of a recon Marine assessing a hostile field, not the look of a man seeing his best buddy after fuck knows how long in that godless purgatory some call the Royal Marines.

"I am not your Brad."

"Yeah, yeah," Ray said, flapping his hand in dismissal. "You're no one's Brad but your own, homes, don't have to tell me that."

Brad growled -- and yeah, that was definitely a growl, what kind of crack had they been feeding him in England, and where could Ray get some? -- and leaned into Ray's space.

"Watch carefully," Brad said.

Ray pulled to deliberately sloppy attention. "Sir yes sir."

Brad opened his mouth and--

"Jesus motherfucking Christ, Brad, that's _awesome_."

Brad had _fangs_. And not, like, pansy-ass bisexual glitter in the sunlight fangs, but stone cold killer fangs, like the badass Marine he, uh, might not be, actually, if the fangs meant what Ray thought they meant.

Shit.

"I. am not. Brad," not-Brad the vampire said.

"Like, you're not Brad but you used to be, or, like, you're not Brad and you never have been and Brad is still tucked up all warm and fuzzy in bed in England?"

Not-Brad had exactly the same glare as Brad -- it was hardly Ray's fault he'd got confused. "Do you ever. stop. talking?"

"Definitely not Brad then," Ray said. Compared to some of the clusterfucks Iraq had given them, this barely rated at half an Encino Man. "Sorry, man. Let me buy you a drink and get out of your way."

Yeah, no, he wasn't get out of this one so easily. Not-Brad had that look on his face that with real-Brad would have meant no singing for at least a hundred klicks. With not-Brad it probably didn't just mean the stifling of Ray's musical creativity.

"Perhaps I will have that drink," Brad sai-- _Not-Brad_ said. Not-Brad. Definitely not-Brad. Brad would never in his life look at Ray like he was a delicious snack, much as Ray might occasionally, very occasionally, hardly at all, never, want him to.

"Okay, not-Brad, _no_ ," Ray said, holding up his arms between them. "I'm not your liberal dick-suck homegrown gay-ass vampire microbrew."

"Perhaps you _want_ me to have that drink," not-Brad said. When he put it like that, it sounded--

"Oh, hey, no, not cool!" That fucker was trying to glamour him. "SERE-V, baby," Ray spelled out. "Drown-proof, interrogation-proof and glamour-proof, motherfucker, so suck on that."

Not-Brad looked like he was taking that last suggestion a bit too literally.

"Okay, poor choice of words." Vampires weren't allowed to kill you, right? There was that blonde woman on CNN, and all that crap about peaceful coexistence and shit. Ray could peacefully coexist like a motherfucker.

Not-Brad's mouth twitched into something too deliberate to be called a smile. "Perhaps you want me to have that drink," he said again, and this time there was no glamour behind it, just a whole fuckload and a half of sex.

Everyone knew you were supposed to fuck a vampire before you died. It was practically Ray's duty to smoke a little vampire pole for the team. For the Corps. For Uncle Sam and apple pie and Sunday school. And if it was a vampire pole that happened to be attached to six-foot-fuck of Brad-a-like, well, Ray wasn't going to ask too many questions.

"How do vampires have sex, anyway?" Yeah, no, he was totally going to ask too many questions. "Can you still get blood to your dick? Or--?"

Not-Brad put his hand over Ray's mouth -- which was another clue, because real-Brad knew better than that by now -- and Ray licked it automatically. Not the sexy kind of licking, more the annoying as fuck kind of licking, and, shit, not-Brad was all kinds of not-amused.

Ray tried to convey apology with a waggle of his eyebrows, but not-Brad didn't have the same elite Ray-reading skills of regular-Brad, so that was about as much use as a nun in a titty bar.

"My name is Eric. You'll want something to scream while you come."

Ray couldn't help snorting right into not-Brad-- into Eric's hand. _Seriously?_ his eyebrows indicated.

Eric drew his hand back, examining it as if Ray had played the next round of _Wheeeere's That Shit?_ right into it. "Problem, breather?"

"Homes, that line is straight-up ancient. I'm talking Ice Age, prehistoric ancient, like woolly mammoths or Jack Nicholson's dick." Ray paused to listen to what he'd just said. "I think I just grossed myself out."

Eric was getting bored. Right, time to step it up a notch. Ante the fuck up, Marine.

Ray cocked his head to one side, exposing his neck. He met Eric's eyes. "Yeah?"

Eric looked him up and down in a way that went straight to his dick, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred hookers.

"Why not?" Eric said. "You're fractionally less dull than the last one."

Ray decided to take that as a compliment.

One freaky-ass superhuman burst of speed and strength later, and Ray was being slammed back into a door in some dark side-room, Eric's hands on his shoulders and Eric's teeth just scratching his throat.

That left Ray's hands free, and he was palming Eric's -- pleasingly hard, weirdly cold -- dick through his faggotty pants before Eric even knew it. Eric pressed up against him, chest to chest, and ran his fangs down the line of Ray's jaw.

Jesus _fuck_.

"You want me to suck you off first?" Ray asked, making sure his hand moved against Eric's dick just enough to get his attention. "Or you wanna fuck me and suck me at the same time? Or--"

Eric pulled back to look at Ray. He was far too composed for someone whose dick was all-but in Ray's hands. "You never do shut up, do you?"

Two could play at icy coolness -- Ray made a show of considering the question. "No. Not unless there's--"

But before he could finish the thought, Eric had one hand over his mouth and the other gripping his throat. It felt kind of good and kind of painful at the same time, like all his blood was rushing to his head and his dick at once. He didn't bother trying to breathe -- he knew how long he could last like this, and either this crazy dead son of a bitch would let him go in time or he wouldn't. Instead, he focussed on getting Eric's dick free and then, as soon as the solid, cool weight of it was resting in his palm, stroking with a steady, even pressure.

It felt good now, just good, all the sensation in his neck and his dick and his hand at once. Not enough to get him off, but enough to make it fun, make it worth the little twist he put on the end of his stroke, jacking Eric off like he had all the time in the world.

His eyes must be bugging by now, and the sound in his ears made him think they were already at the two minute mark, even though he'd only counted twenty strokes, not nearly enough. He kept his hand firm on Eric's dick, and jerked his head just enough to meet Eric's eyes.

"Oh, you _are_ amusing," Eric said, making no move to take loosen his grip on Ray's neck. "How long can you keep this up?"

At the real two minute mark, Ray would have to take evasive action. Even a vampire might be distracted if someone tried to snap his dick in half -- Ray had seen that shit on the Discovery Channel. He kept up the strokes, steady and sure, and tried to indicate with a polite raise of his eyebrows that this might be a lot more fun if some gay-ass excuse for a vampire took his hand off Ray's neck and put it on Ray's dick, where it belonged.

And fuck if the gay-ass excuse for a vampire didn't take the hint. "I like your blood better oxygenated," Eric said as he undid Ray's pants with a one-handed flick.

Yeah, yeah, bullshit. Truth was, no one could resist the charm of the Ray for long, be they vampire, human or Marine.

Ray sucked down a couple of deep breaths, enjoying the burn. Eric's hand was just this side of too much, just this side of too tight, and it felt fucking _amazing_.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Ray breathed. His voice was a little raspy, a little wrecked.

"Sometimes on the corpses of their children," Eric agreed easily.

_Fuck._

Ray had once heard the US government paid, like, a quarter million dollars to train a recon Marine. He used every last penny of that not to slow his hand on Eric-the-don't-forget-I'm-a-vampire's dick, not to pull back or show weakness. Same alpha-male bullshit, different goddamn day. "You know that's not a turn on, right?" He even kept his voice steady, no thrill of fear for him, hell no.

"You still seem," Eric paused, "interested."

"Homes," Ray said, "if I could whack one out in the desert, with the enemy fire blazing the fuck away and the -- _don't stop_ \-- ghost of Trombley's dead kid dancing about on the edge of my vision like a two-bit hooker, I can keep it up when a hot blond psycho killer is jacking me off." His breath hitched as Eric brought their dicks together, lining them up and wrapping his cool, calloused hand against both. "It's, like, the unofficial tag to that moto bullshit: Swift, silent, deadly, horny as fuck."

"Silent?"

Ray tried to say something like, _Yeah, whatever,_ or _That joke's older than you, man,_ but at the same time, Eric put his teeth back on the pulse point of Ray's neck, and holy fuck, everyone should fuck a vampire before they died. It should be, like, in the Constitution or something, right up there with that well-regulated militia.

It was like every single nerve in his body was concentrated in his neck, and they were all firing off the happy juice at the same damned time.

It hurt, but it was the good kind of hurt, the best kind of hurt, and he could feel himself flowing into Eric, his entire body throbbing with his pulse, like an orgasm and an electric shock had a baby right there in his neck and no one had even tried to stop them.

And then Eric was pulling off, and, _no_ , he couldn't, why was he stopping, what the fuck?

Ray made a noise of protest and tried to open his eyes. And, hey, hey, this much blood loss felt like thirty hours without sleep, who knew? That bit where you're on the high but you can feel your bones are about to give way, and you just need to man the fuck up and drive through the night. Shit. He needed to get his eyes open.

Eric was sitting on a pile of boxes, wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand. When he saw Ray looking at him, he tilted his head in acknowledgment. "You're still standing."

"Hoo-rah." Ray should probably get out of there before Eric-the-vampire-god-of-back-room-handjobs decided Marine blood was as awesome as every soul in the Corps knew it was. He wiped himself off and did up his pants, trying to ignore what the hot, dull throb on the side of his neck was doing to his self-control.

Then, to Eric: "Thanks." No harm in being polite.

Eric gave him a look that was 100% pure Brad, amusement and disdain and his mind already more than half on something else. "You keep yourself safe now." It sounded a lot like a threat.

Fucking vampires, man. Fuck.

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